Cas's Sacrifice
by EliotWinchester
Summary: Based on prompts by Chapter 1: Cas protecting the boys during a hunt (and/or vice versa) Chapter 2: Something about wings and Team Free Will. Chapter 3: Cas and Balthazar before the events of SPN.
1. Anything Left to Live For

The house was dark and cold. It gave off a stench, the kind you only find in abandoned places where everything's been left to rot. There was a silence that seemed to penetrate the very walls and clawed its way inside you and made your breath catch. There was no hall after the front door; it opened straight into a living room. What was left of a couch lay tattered and sunken in the middle of the room and a door lay to the left, slightly ajar.

This was supposed to just be a normal hunt. It was just an angry spirit who'd been killing people. This time they thought it was on old WW1 soldier, seeing as all his victims had the symptoms of mustard gas poisoning. Only Sam had this terrible feeling that something was very wrong.

"Dean," he whispered, breaking the silence like a bullwhip despite his low tones.

"What?" Dean hissed back, salt gun raised towards the open door.

"I don't like this Dean," Sam warned.

"Well if you're scared why don't you wait in the car till I can check for the bogey man?" he mocked.

"Shut up Dean," Sam half snapped, half sighed at his older brother.

Something rattled beyond the door. Suddenly both brothers were poised, like true predators all their senses keened on their prey in the next room. Dean motioned to Sam to stay close and cover his back. Then, they moved slowly towards the door, automatically knowing exactly how to place their feet so that they made no noise on the dusty floorboards.

When they reached the door, there was pause as Dean laid his hand on the handle and looked over his shoulder for confirmation that Sam was ready. Sam tightened his grip on his gun, took a deep breath and nodded.

Dean flung open the door and both barrels were pointed straight down a short corridor. It was even darker in here than it was in the previous room. Dean switched on his flashlight and held it in line with the gun.

There was nothing but dust, and another door. Right at the end the door stood slightly ajar, just as the first one had. Alarm bells started ringing in Sam's head.

"Dean," he warned again, "I don't like where this is going."

"This is a little weird," Dean admitted, "But we still have to kill the son of a bitch. Weird is kind of what we do."

Sam wasn't convinced but Dean was already moving down the corridor and he wasn't about to leave him. He followed, far more cautiously this time; his senses on such high alert that he thought his heart would explode from the adrenaline.

At the end of the corridor, Dean slowly pushed open the door. There was another room, similar to the first, but this one had a table covered in a dust sheet rather than a sofa. They moved in, scouting out every inch of the room with their flashlights. There was nothing.

"I don't get it," Dean had stopped whispering, "This dude's been vicious so far, surely we should have seen something by now."

But Sam wasn't paying attention. His heart was in his mouth as he stood by the window, staring at the one thing he wished he would never see again.

"Dean," he called, his voice filled with tension.

"What?" responded his older brother, "What have you got?"

Sam took a pinch and held his hand up to Dean, letting it slowly trickle out from his fingers.

"Sulphur," Dean gasped.

"That table," Sam gestured with his head, "Doesn't that sheet look a bit new to you?"

Dean looked at the table then back at Sam, his eyes worried. They both went over and, after grabbing a corner each, wrenched the dustsheet off and let it fall to the floor.

On the table was an assortment of candles, bones, blood and other ritual items. It was an altar.

"Boys," came a sweet, feminine voice, "So glad you could make it."

Sam and Dean spun around so fast it nearly gave them whiplash, their guns pointed steadily towards the woman's head. Only she wasn't a woman at all.

"Now, now, I don't think we'll be needing those," she said calmly. With a flick of her wrist, the guns were wrenched from their hands and fell uselessly to the sides of the room.

"What do you want bitch?" Dean spat at her.

"Mind your manners, I might get offended," she put her hand to her chest in mock hurt.

"Yeah, well, maybe I couldn't give a crap about your so-called feelings," Dean's comebacks were sparkling with wit as usual, "if you even have any."

"Ouch," she laughed. "But I've had enough chitchat for one day, it's time you boys shut up and started to become useful."

She flicked her wrists again and Sam felt himself be flung backwards. He hit the wall painfully and groaned. Milliseconds later, Dean thudded next to him with a sickening crunch.

"God dammit!" Dean yelled, obviously in pain.

"Come now, you know I don't like that word," the demon smiled, deceptively sweet.

"You won't like my foot up your ass either," Dean grunted in frustration, fighting against the invisible force that held him.

The demon laughed.

"What do you want from us?" Sam demanded. He had grown tired of Dean's random insults; they never got them anywhere, other than in trouble.

"Well that's really quite simple," the demon sauntered closer to Sam, running a hand over his cheek, Sam tried his best to wriggle free from her touch but he could barely move.

"You see, everyone keeps talking about this big battle with Michael and Lucifer," she continued, walking away from Sam, "and about the chosen vessels."

She smiled knowingly at the brothers.

"All I keep hearing is about prophecies and sticking to what is written and blah, blah, blah. Problem is, I don't much feel like sticking to scripture. I mean, we're demons! What's the point of being a demon if you stick to 'God's plan'?"

Sam and Dean exchanged glances, neither liked where this was going.

"So I figure," the demon continued with a shrug, "Why not upend the balance? Given how we're liars and cheaters by nature, why not use that to our advantage? Plus, without his vessel, Michael's not going to be much of a problem at all."

She grinned at Dean and carefully picked up a knife from the altar. She held it as delicately as if it were a flower and walked to Dean as slowly as a funeral march.

"Leave him alone!" Sam shouted, redoubling his efforts to get free.

"Oh Sam," she giggled, "Don't you see? All the reasons you have for protesting are all the reasons I'm doing it in the first place.

"Once I cut out his heart," she placed the knife on Dean's shirt, "and offer it to Lucifer, you will have nothing to live for. So you will offer yourself to him when the time comes."

"I will never say yes to him!" Sam insisted, still struggling.

"Oh of course you won't, not whilst Dean is still there to be saved. But ask yourself this Sam Winchester," the demons voice got low, and her face was close to his, "Is a world without your beloved brother in really worth saving?"

Sam didn't respond. He couldn't. He knew Dean was staring at him, but he just couldn't bring himself to admit that she was right. He couldn't live without Dean, he didn't know how.

The demon laughed maniacally.

"I didn't think so," was all she said.

She moved back over to Dean and raised the knife above her head. The point was directed straight at his heart. Dean braced himself.

Then there was suddenly the familiar rush of wings. Castiel appeared behind the demon and ripped her away from the boys. She flew across the room and landed in a heap, before raising her head to glare angrily at the angel. Sam didn't think he'd been so happy to see anyone in his life.

Then he felt the pressure release and him and Dean fell to the floor.

"Go. Now," was all Cas said.

Sam didn't need asking twice, he grabbed Dean who was wincing in pain and dragged him out of the door. As they left the house Sam could hear the crashes and thumps of a demon on angel clash. He heaved Dean into the passenger seat. Then he grabbed the keys, started the car up and reversed her out of the driveway. Once he had turned around, he looked briefly in the rear-view mirror. There were bursts of light and rubble as the house was slowly torn apart by the raging battle within.


	2. How Much Aspirin Does an Angel Need?

Dean's back hurt like hell. _Bitch didn't have to throw me that damn hard. _He winced as he dragged his shirt painfully from his shoulders whilst Sam cut up bandages and uncapped several bottles of whiskey.

The younger brother had barely said a word since he'd made sure Dean wasn't about to die. They'd gotten back to the motel in a matter of minutes, with Sam driving far too fast. Dean had made several threats about crashing the car but Sam had told him to shut up. Once they had made it back and stumbled into the room, with Sam supporting most of Dean's weight, Sam had gotten straight to his silent work in getting things ready.

"Sam, buddy, talk to me," Dean offered, knowing that Sam was much more open to talking about things than he was. Sam walked up to Dean and started cleaning the wound that the rusty nail jutting out of the wall had left.

"Shut up," he replied, not for the first time. Dean winced as the whiskey was poured to sterilise and clean out the rust and grit.

"You've barely said a word since we left, and normally you're all touchy feely about these kind of things," Dean joked. Sam only responded by wiping his back with a clean cloth, perhaps a little harder than necessary.

"Fine, that's the way you want to play it," he conceded.

The brothers fell into silence as Sam finished cleaning up and binding Dean's wounds. He used one bottle of whiskey to sterilise the wound and he gave the other bottle to Dean to drink; the closest thing to an anaesthetic he got before Sam set about stitching up the gash.

Dean was used to it but that didn't stop him clenching his teeth every time the needle pulled the dental floss through his skin. Once it was done, and the whiskey very near finished, Sam wrapped bandages around Dean's torso, and a couple of times over his right shoulder to make sure it didn't slip down. Dean was just about to relax in the chair when Cas came crashing through the door.

"Jesus Christ are you alright?" asked Dean.

There was blood pouring from a cut on the angel's forehead and more blood stained his clothes. Dean couldn't work out if it was his or not.

"What happened?" Sam asked urgently, obviously forgetting his stubborn silence.

"She was, an archdemon," he managed to spit out. He was clutching his stomach and walking with an odd lilt. "Much stronger, than, expected."

His words were catching and he fell to his knees. The brothers were with him in seconds, keeping him from falling on his face.

"Dean," Cas murmured, barely able to keep his voice audible.

"What? What is it?" Dean replied hurriedly, he hated seeing his friend like this.

"Dean, I…" he stopped, and Dean was shocked to see a tear roll down the angels cheeks. He'd never seen an angel show true emotion, let alone cry, even Cas.

"What's wrong?" Dean insisted urgently.

"I, I can't feel my wings."

Sam and Dean exchanged panicked glances.

"Are you saying you're paralysed?" Sam asked, as gently as he could manage.

"I don't know," Cas sobbed, "Please. Help me."

"Quick, move him on to the bed," Sam hurried to put the angel's arm over his shoulder. Dean copied him with the other side and together they moved him to the nearest bed.

"Should we lay him on his front?" Dean asked, "I mean it's his wings that hurt right, so we shouldn't put him on his back?"

"I am still awake you know," Cas interrupted before Sam could answer, "It would be best for me to lie down on my front, then my wings will be easier for you to reach."

"Right then," Dean was slightly uncomfortable, he wasn't used to seeing angels in such vulnerable states and he wasn't sure how he should be acting.

As the brothers moved his arms from their shoulders, Cas practically fell forwards onto the bed. Sam and Dean looked at each other again, not sure what to do.

"How do we treat wings we can't even see?" Sam muttered. All Dean could do was shrug, he was worried about Cas, but he was also extremely out of his depth.

"Cas?" Sam ventured, "We're going to need a little help here. We're not sure what to do."

The angel's eyes were screwed up in pain and he could barely speak through his clenched teeth.

"I, I can't think through the pain," was all he managed to get out.

"Well that I think we can help with."

Sam made himself busy getting fresh supplies, similar to those he used with Dean. Dean always marvelled at this. Obviously he and his dad were capable when it came to basic medical stuff, but Sam had taken to it like a duck to water. Sometimes Dean wondered if Sam should have tried to become a doctor rather than a lawyer.

They tried to give Cas some whiskey to numb him but he informed them that it was not easy to get an angel drunk as they were much less susceptible to the effects of alcohol.

"It's a good thing we got a couple of bottles then isn't it?" Dean joked, in an attempt to lighten the mood. The general glumness of his company put him on edge, and no matter the jokes he made neither of them cracked a smile.

Dean sat on the bed next to Cas's head and helped him drink mouthful after mouthful of whiskey whilst Sam took the awkward task of stripping the angel's top half, so that they could at least see his back.

The trench coat came off easily as it was open, but Sam had to use scissors to cut off the shirt. Once Cas had emptied nearly two bottles of liquor Dean folded up the coat neatly, placing it and the customary blue tie on the table for when the angel recovered. However much Dean hated himself for it, he was sentimental about things like that. He couldn't imagine himself without the little pendant Sam had given him, or his dad's leather jacket. Just the same, he couldn't imagine Cas without the coat and tie.

Sam and Dean looked down with worry at the shirtless angel. His back and sides were covered with lacerations, and from the blood coating the bed sheets they could only imagine what his front was like. Despite this, the most distressing thing was the angel's shoulders. The muscles were spasming out of control.

"Okay, I have no idea how to treat spasming," Dean admitted, "Do you?"

"I haven't the faintest idea," Sam said shaking his head, "I'll call Bobby."

A few minutes later, Sam hung up the phone after trying to explain to Bobby why they needed to know about muscle spasms.

"So Bobby's doesn't know much about spasms of this extremity, but he says the easiest thing for us to do would be to give him an ibuprofen," Sam sighed out, in his customary way.

Dean rustled through their stuff to find a full packet of ibuprofen. Once he held it in his hand, he looked at it for a second before having a thought.

"How many should we give him?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"Well, if it's anything like the whiskey, one's not going to be enough," Dean reasoned, "not by a long shot."

Sam opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by a piercing shriek from Cas. Their heads snapped in response to the noise and saw the angel thrashing on the bed. His hands were balled up in the sheets, knuckles so white they looked like they would burst from his skin. The spasms had moved through to the whole of his back now, causing his entire body to convulse with each one.

The boys leapt into action. Sam grabbed the remaining whiskey whilst Dean sat on the bed lifting up Cas's head so that he could feed him the pills.

"Two at a time do you reckon?" Sam queried, a worried frown appearing across his face.

"I'll start him off with three, and then give him two every half an hour till they take effect?" Dean meant to state it as a plan, but it came out as a question as he looked to Sam for confirmation.

"Sounds good," his younger brother reassured him.

Dean sighed, he knew he was capable, but when so much was about guess work he was glad to at least have Sam's opinion on standby.

Two hours later, after nine ibuprofen pills had been given to Cas with a gulp of whiskey each time, it was time for the next two. With each couple of pills Cas had become quieter and his spasms had become less frequent. By this time he was silent and he hadn't had a spasm fit for at least fifteen minutes.

As Dean went at this half an hour mark, Cas put his hand up to stop him.

"Thank you," he croaked out. This was the first thing he'd said since that awful scream two hours previously.

"No problem buddy," Dean said awkwardly. He wasn't very good at accepting thanks, it wasn't often he felt he deserved it.

"I feel much better now," he seemed to smile slightly with his eyes. "I feel very weak though."

"That's normal," Dean reassured him. "How are your wings?"

"I have some sensation in the bases, but it's tingly, see?" Cas made a stretching motion with his back and suddenly Dean could see dark stumps, slowly fading into nothing.

"How come I can't see them all?" Dean tried to keep the awe out of his voice but it didn't work.

"You can only see them if I show you, and I can't show you if I can't feel them," Cas explained simply.

"Right, well, have you tried getting some sleep? It'll make you feel better."

"Angel's don't sleep Dean," Cas stated simply.

"Well, maybe not ordinarily, but you sure look like you could use a couple of hours."

"My eyelids do feel heavy;" he looked confused, "Is that normal?"

"Very," Dean said with a smile, it was amusing seeing an 'angel of the lord' in such a human situation. "Try and sleep, if you can."

"Very well, I shall try to rest."

Dean chuckled and went outside to where Sam was sitting on a picnic bench that was set in the parking lot. Sam's head shot up as the door clicked shut.

"How is he?"

"Well he's had enough of these," Dean replied, throwing down the rest of the pills on the table. "He's trying to get some sleep."

"Well that's a good sign," Sam looked relieved. "Do you reckon we'd disturb him going inside? It's getting cold out here."

"Nah, I think he'll be out like a light."

Sure enough, when they pushed open the door Cas was out for the count. What they didn't expect to see was the dark shadow of his wings, now at least half of them were showing before fading into invisibility.

"Whoa," Sam breathed.

"I guess that's a side-effect of angel naps," Dean shrugged nonchalantly, though he couldn't help the sense of wonderment he felt. This wasn't something you saw every day.

The boys pottered about for a bit, doing bits of research and cleaning weapons. Then it was time for sleep and Sam called dibs on the remaining bed. Dean fetched a sleeping bag from the car and set it out in the gap between the ends of each of the beds.

In the dark Dean could still make out the outline of Cas's wings, now visible enough that they could be seen trailing the floor. He had a feeling that Sam was looking at them occasionally too. He couldn't help but think back to when they had first met Cas, and the other angels, it seemed so long ago.

There was something about having Sam and Cas in the same room as him that felt right; like he could look over all his family at once. He rolled over so he couldn't get distracted by the wings. Just before he fell asleep had a strange thought, but it passed and he fell into a comfortable slumber.

_I wonder what angels dream about? _


	3. Little Blue Bird

Angels didn't dream. Castiel discovered this as he drifted into unconsciousness in the quiet of a motel room. He did not run through a fantasy land or some imagined future of peace. His mind did not even create a relaxing escape as he knew so often filled Dean's few hours of sleep. Instead, he found himself in somewhere familiar. It was a large expanse of open green grass which was situated roughly where modern day East Stockholm now stood, but this was centuries beforehand when humanity was still such a young species.

His vessel was a small but strong twelve year old boy who had been cut off from his family and tribe by a harsh winter. He had barely understood what Castiel asked of him but seeing as his other choices were waiting to either starve or freeze to death he had agreed eagerly.

Cas remembered that winter well. It was his first journey to Earth and his first vessel, so he had been allowed that winter to explore his father's creation. He flitted around the globe watching predators hunt, fish swim and leap, and humans with their early sketches of the civilisation they would build.

All of God's creatures were magnificent and Cas would spend hours with each one, but his favourite by far were the birds. He spent weeks finding each species and watching them fly, standing close when they slept as only an angel could, finding every detail in their feathers.

The first similarity he found was in a large golden bird, an ancestor of the Golden Eagle, where he saw the golden flecks in chestnut feathers almost identical to Gabriel's wings. Then a Raven with wings that first appeared solid black then shone under the light with vibrant greens and purples just like Raphael's. Michael's came to him in the form of a hawk coated in dark red like a sunset in a thunderstorm.

An overwhelming sadness filled him when he finally found the sleek white feathers of Lucifer on a proud looking swan in which Castiel could see the effort which their father had put towards it. It pained him to think of Lucifer's wings, which looked as though they had been woven by the very cloths of heaven, now tattered and stained with his own blood. Cas knew he would not find their like anywhere on this world.

Slowly he found the likeness of each of his kin. A dark grey for Zachariah, the deep green of a tropical bird for Anna, even the fluffy teal of Joshua's prized wings. He was so preoccupied with marvelling at his brothers and sisters made again in their father's new work that it took him by surprise when a little bird, no bigger than the palm of his hand, hopped up to him. It stood on a branch by his right shoulder and cocked its head inquisitively. Its tiny wings were a swirl of blue and black that Cas recognized instantly.

They were his.

Just the thought that his father had one day carved out of the cosmos this little being just for him made Castiel feel more emotion than he had any right to as a warrior of heaven.

Holding out his hand to the bird, it hopped towards him and onto his forefinger. Its little talons gripped securely and it peered up at him, no hint of fear in its eyes despite being so small and he being so big. They stood there like that for a long time, before eventually the tiny creature decided it must move on. Naturally, Castiel followed it.

It flew about darting at the ground picking up grubs and things to eat. But rather than eating them there it would fly up into a tree and disappear before coming back for more. Eventually Cas's curiosity got the better of him and he followed the bird up the tree. Perching on a branch he watched as his little friend darted into a small hollow. Peering inside he found a group of baby birds in a nest of sticks, leaves and feathers. They were chirping loudly but would quieten when his little blue bird gave them a grub of worm to eat.

What confused Cas was that these birds were already larger than the blue one and their grey baby down was already starting to be replaced with deep brown adult feathers.

_They're not its young._

This was obvious enough but what he couldn't understand was _why? _Why would this little bird with all the troubles it must already have to look after itself or trying to have its own young bother with looking after these birds that weren't even the same species? Castiel pondered if he would sacrifice anything for anyone that wasn't his family, but he couldn't think of any situation where that would even be a consideration.

Shaking himself out of the memory and remembering that this was a dream, Cas laughed to himself. If only his younger self knew that God, in all his wisdom, had not just given that bird some blue and black feathers and left it at that. He had known all along that Castiel would fall on the side of the humans.

_Maybe this is what he wanted for me then. Maybe I am not a traitor but following the path laid out for me._

But that didn't make any sense. Why would his path be destined to interrupt the path of others? Why would his fate be to stop something that was set in stone by God himself? No. It didn't make any sense and he shouldn't try to justify his treacherous actions because of an observation about a bird.

He skipped ahead the rest of his memories until he stood back in that large expanse of grass that stretched across the ground like an ocean. It was broken up by the occasional tree and the grass itself was long and thick. It was long before the time humans started cutting it.

He was watching a caterpillar crawl up a single blade when he heard the faint sound of wings behind him.

"Cas!" he heard the greeting as he swirled around.

It was Balthazar, whose silver coloured wings Cas had found on a bird over the sea. Apparently the only way their father could achieve the silver shimmer was by having them constantly dripping with water, reflecting sunlight in soft sparkles that Balthazar had naturally all the time. Castiel smiled internally as he realised that before Sam and Dean, Balthazar was the only one who ever called him 'Cas'.

"I'm so glad you made it," he smiled. His vessel was a tall man with wavy blond hair like sunlight rippling down his back.

"I wouldn't be late for this," Castiel smiled back.

This was his first lesson. Balthazar was to teach him how to be a warrior on Earth, in a human body. Cas was just thankful with who was chosen to teach him, and mainly that it wasn't Zachariah. At least he knew that Balthazar would forgive any mistakes, whereas Zachariah was notorious for being ruthless with 'failure' as he called it.

"Let's get started then," Balthazar grinned.

They started with the simple moving position. 'Zapping' was what Dean called it. He had gotten the hang of this during his stay over the winter so they swiftly moved on to zapping to a moving target. There were no cars or trains obviously so Balthazar found a butterfly, released it and told Cas that he had to zap to a position and catch the butterfly without taking a step or zapping again.

It turned out to be harder than Cas thought and it took him six tries to catch the butterfly. When he came back with it held gently but securely in his hand, Balthazar beamed with pride.

"Nice job brother!"

Cas gave a small smile, it made him happy to know that his brother was pleased with his progress.

They spent the next few hours training. Balthazar showed him how to wield an angel blade, how to channel his power through his hands to smite a demon by touch and finally how to focus his grace into a blast.

It felt strange to Castiel, to fight in this body. The new feeling of the human form through him off guard and caused him to be overpowered several times by Balthazar who held the blade to his throat for a split second each time before laughing and teasing him on his clumsiness.

Hearing that laughter again made him strangely sad. Balthazar laughed freely and often, and perhaps was the only angel to do so. Save maybe Gabriel.

They took a break once Castiel had grasped the basics. There was no need, they could have continued for days without growing tired but Balthazar was all about free time so they took a walk.

"You've been awfully compliant Cas," he frowned about half an hour in, "don't you have any questions?"

He pondered the thought for a moment before answering.

"I wouldn't really know where to start, there's so much I do not know yet."

"Well what do you want to know?"

"I guess," Cas paused uncertainly, "I guess I would want to know why our wings are invisible. Why can't they manifest properly on Earth?"

"Ah see I knew you were a curious one," Balthazar smiled with a glint in his eye, "Our wings are part of Heaven; they're what ties us to it. They can't be here just as Heaven can't be here."

"So we can't hurt our wings here?"

Balthazar's expression grew dark at the question and Cas's curiosity peaked.

"On the contrary, our wings are what we must guard the closest."

"But you just said…"

"They are not able to be damaged by anything _physical. _We don't need to worry about weapons or falling on them or any threat posed by an average battle or fight."

"Then what can they be damaged by?"

"Well they're our connection to Heaven right? So anything that threatens that connection threatens our wings."

"I don't understand," Cas admitted.

"If your allegiances were swayed, if you started fighting for another side… Your wings would suffer, as would the powers gifted by your Grace."

"What would happen to them?" Cas asked, horrified by the thought.

"Your powers would just weaken, but your wings…" Balthazar looked genuinely disturbed, "You have to understand, this isn't a consequence of one broken order or a single feeling of doubt. This can only happens if something makes you deny your allegiance to Heaven. This is one step short of falling."

Castiel was hooked on to Balthazar's every word, and though the subject terrified him he nodded for his brother to continue.

"It starts with an ache, but can quickly lead to spasms and paralysis – your wings go numb," he added seeing Cas's look of confusion at the medical term.

"That sounds awful," Cas said sternly.

"It's reversible. To begin with. The more it happens the more likely it is to become permanent, until eventually the feeling never comes back to them. That's when you know."

"Know what?"

"That you've fallen."

"But how could you have fallen! I thought your Grace had to be ripped out?" Cas was aghast.

"Normally yes, but to deny Heaven so completely severs your connection with it. It's as though your Grace slowly returns to Heaven without you noticing until you can no longer feel it anymore. Remember Cas, you are not an angel without Heaven." Balthazar had stopped walking and was looking Castiel dead in the eye with a serious glare that seemed so foreign on his face.

"Of course, I shall not doubt brother," Cas gifted this rare solemnity with his own.

Balthazar broke into a grin.

"Good!" he swung an arm over Cas's shoulder, "What shall I beat you at – I mean teach you next?"

* * *

Cas woke up with a start, his face still buried in the motel pillow.

_Oh I was so wrong._


End file.
